


Corporis Humiliatus

by littlecactusfriend



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: "normal" depictions of violence?, Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Chastity Cage, Choking, Dirty Talk, Enemas, First Time Blow Jobs, Fisting, Kink Meme, Kneeling, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Noct's gonna get fucked up, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Overstimulated Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sounding, Unsafe Sex, idk I messed Gladio up pretty well, intentional use of the word 'whore' specifically by a very evil man specifically to slut-shame, plus an indeterminate amount of AU world-building and political intrigue, so much non-con omg just recycle me already, tagging "underage" for places where 17 is below the age of consent, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-10-28 12:25:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10831242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecactusfriend/pseuds/littlecactusfriend
Summary: The Astral Tournament, ordained by the (somewhat bored) gods, has been held every year for centuries on Eos, with champions from every nation - effectively Lucis, Tenebrae, Accordo and Niflheim - competing in gladitorial combat. The ruler of the winning kingdom may request any favor to be granted by their neighboring countries. For centuries, the games have carried on as a peaceful opportunity for diplomacy, with mostly benign favors asked by the winners.Niflheim has not won the Tournament in anyone's living memory...until one year, they do. With Accordo and Tenebrae annexed and occupied respectively, it is a prime opportunity to request a favor of Lucis, ordained by the Astrals themselves, that will bring the kingdom to its knees. Instead, Emperor Eidolas Aldercapt issues his demand: for Prince Noctis to attend him in bed for one night only.(A fill for the ffxv kinkmeme!)





	1. The Astral Tournament

“Do you have painkillers?”

The world outside of the fancy Rolls that had picked them up from the Altissian waterfront was a blur. Noct watched the grey Cliffside and the intricate mansions carved into the surface whizz by them, welcoming the white noise of the road. In the seat beside him, Ignis was fussing through a small duffel bag. 

“Never mind, I packed extra. They’re in the white pill wallet. Outside pocket.”

Noct leaned his head against the cool glass of the window pane. The close press of the cliff face fell away to his right and vast, rocky fields stretched out before them. The roadway shifted into a system of bridges that carried them over the rushing inlets of water, crashing and foaming on their way to topple down into the Walls of Water, and further into the Accordan countryside.

“It’s unlikely that you should be required to…perform, in any specific way, towards him. The treatise was…specific.” Ignis had been stilting his words all afternoon, tiptoeing around Noct the way he normally didn’t bother when they were alone. “Regardless, I’ve packed some…supplements. For assistance. In that area. Will you remember?”

Noct closed his eyes.

“…I’ll add them to the wallet as well. Righthand side.”

Noct said nothing.

“Were you able to get any sleep?”

“How’s Gladio?” 

Nothing was said between them for a moment. When Ignis spoke, he was quiet. “You know as much as I do, I’m afraid. Based on his charts…well. He’s quite strong.”

Noct’s grip tightened on his seatbelt.

“Have you been hydrating?”

“I just…really don’t want to talk right now, Ignis.”

A nearly inaudible “Of course,” and Ignis fell silent. Noct pulled his feet up onto the seat, curled up tightly and tried to feign sleep as the bump of the bridges rushed by beneath them.

~*~

The Astral Tournament had been held in Altissia for the last twenty-six years, longer than Noct had been alive, though it had begun as a tradition some 800 years prior. After Niflheim’s annexation of Accordo, ‘both’ countries had lobbied for the permanent move as the only ‘convenient’ and ‘neutral’ venue that had an ‘adequate’ coliseum for the attending crowds and diplomatic representatives.

Basically, it was closest to Niflheim.

Tenebrae and Lucis, being more temperate where they exerted their diplomacy, had agreed to the location, and thus Noct had known the Tournament mostly as a week-long chunk taken out of his summer vacation to sail into Altissia with his dad and his dad’s friends (as he’d known Queen Sylva and First Secretary Claustra at the time). Gladio had always been there, as his father had championed Lucis for most of Noct’s formative years. He’d been attending the Tournament before he’d known anything about them, but he’d first met Luna at the games when she and her mother had visited Lucis’ box.

According to Luna at the time, and his five-year-old’s level of understanding, the Astral Tournament was first decreed by the Astrals and had been prophesied by her twenty-fourth great-grandfather 823 years prior. The ruling nations of Eos were commanded to send warriors to compete in a great melee, a week of competitions for strength, agility, and martial skill. These games would culminate in a grand gladiatorial meet in which a champion from each country would compete for a favor for their homeland, to be ordained by the gods.

“So if we still had a Solheim…there’d be five countries completing?” he had stammered at Luna, who beamed at him from behind her childish bangs. “Exactly right.”

Noct hadn’t seen Luna up close since Niflheim had occupied Tenebrae. He remembered vividly the small girl in her blood-splattered white dress, growing smaller and smaller behind him on the vast lawn of the Nox Fleuret manor as he and his father had been forced to flee for their lives. The absence of Queen Sylva was not mentioned at the games, as the passing of heads of state was usually not. Luna and Ravus were confined to their box far away at the opposite end of the grand coliseum as Emperor Eidolas had waved to the crowd from Niflheim’s box, as if he didn’t have the Queen’s blood on his hands. Over the years, Luna sat the box representing Tenebrae alone, a tiny white speck who might as well have been worlds away. Ravus, who Gladio had been closer to in age and Noct barely remembered, had last represented Tenebrae as its champion two years prior. He had won the grand meet that year and Luna, as the only living member of Tenebrae’s governmental body who qualified, had used Tenebrae’s favor to secure Insomnian visas and safe passage for Tenebraean citizens who yet lingered in war-torn rural areas. Noct had met the wave of refugees at the train station with his father, who had welcomed them with open arms.

The following year, Niflheim had protested Ravus’ involvement as a conflict of interest between the two nations pending his upcoming promotion to the Niflheim army, and forbade him from future competitions on behalf of Tenebrae.

Noct had grown up sitting with Gladio, and later, Ignis, all three of them eating cheap carnival food and kicking their feet over the edge of their bench in Lucis’ box. Gladio would watch his father take apart men twice his width with a sword three times his size, with a look of abject worship on his face like he was staring into his own future. When Noct was ten, Kingsglaive Captain Drautos had begun decimating for Lucis. The previous year, Noct had been sixteen, and Drautos had suffered an unfortunate rotator cuff tear a few weeks before the Tournament that had resulted in the nomination of Nyx Ulric, one of his subordinates who proved an absolute fiend with Galahd steel and seemed to get a really cathartic enjoyment out of publicly toying with Niflheim's augmented super-soldier, repeatedly dropping the massive beast of a man on his ass before securing first blood and his victory. Noct hadn't been able to weasel out of the most boring meeting of his life after that: his father had insisted on his presence for training purposes and Ignis, the predictable traitor, had all but blocked the door to the conference room with his own body as First Secretary Claustra actually begged King Regis to reconsider the trade partnership he had been planning for, as the probable result would have been Niflheim throwing a political tantrum in the form of marching armored MTs through the streets and canalways of Altissia as a show of dominance.

In the end, Regis had settled for VIP tickets to the following spring's Moogle-Chocobo Carnival in Altissia for the Lucian royal family and their entourage, including their own chocobo tour guide. If the person employed to dress up as that particular chocobo just so happened to resemble First Secretary Claustra, the handful of teenagers present knew better than to mention the coincidence out loud.

Lucis’ process of selecting its champion wasn’t exactly exclusive, or classified, but due to the strenuous training regimen that turned out warriors who were prepared and expected to fight for their lives as a career path, the Lucian champions tended to emerge from those closest to the crown. When Gladio had surpassed Nyx’s records from the previous year and been selected, he’d been totally insufferable for months leading up to the Tournament: Noct felt like he’d been in training for it as well, because Gladio’s workouts overlapped with their training sessions, and his Shield had had zero mercy on him despite Noct’s rationalizations, bribery, or deliberate whining. The way Gladio had explained it to him (inbetween repeatedly knocking him on his ass on the gym floor), everyone figured that since Ravus had kicked ass for Tenebrae for several years running, as a recently-promoted officer that Niflheim had made clear would not be competing for his homeland, Ravus was expected to make a showing on Niflheim’s behalf. Niflheim hadn’t won the Tournament in anyone’s recent memory and had a nasty habit of sending MT-enhanced soldiers, most of whom fell to complications from their own augmentations before another champion. Gladio had been training across the board, but he'd been studying for Ravus. With the political clime the way it stood since Niflheim had begun creeping its way across the map, Lucis and Niflheim were the only real contenders any more, and Niflheim was clearly ambitious. Ravus had won tournaments in the past. He had been the likely bet, the tactical option for a diplomatic show of arms.

In the end, no one in the coliseum had been prepared for Niflheim to roll open its gate and for the dread General Glauca, brutal and cold as any machine Niflheim had ever cultivated, to draw a long, wicked-looking dagger and stroll onto the hard-packed sands of the Tournament grounds.

~*~

It had been a massacre.

Tenebrae’s aged Commondant had been the closest to Glauca when the horn blew. He was taken out so abruptly and jerkily that even the instant replays weren’t sure his neck hadn’t simply been snapped, and the stadium roared with shock as everyone realized what was happening. The muscular city guardsman from Accordo went down hard with Glauca’s knife in her stomach. The general hadn’t even unsheathed his sword yet.

Gladio lasted four minutes.

Chaos erupted in Lucis’ box as Gladio tried to drag himself away from Glauca with a knife in his thigh, dozens of cuts and gashes lining his torso and one long, dramatic scar washing his face red. He clutched at a long, shallow cut along his carotid where he’d seemingly fallen back just in time to keep his head. Regis had surged to his feet and the rest of the crowd followed, breaking into uproar as Glauca stalked Gladio, ripping his jagged knife out of Gladio’s leg. He dug a boot under Gladio’s side and kicked him onto his back, planting his foot heavily in the middle of the young man’s chest. Iris was screaming, crying, fighting her father, who was shouting for the king to do something. Ignis was white as a sheet, but the strength in his arms was startling as he pried Noct back from the rail. Noct’s eyes darted between the gory scene in the arena and the giant projection screens, where it was easy to see Gladio’s entire hand coated in sticky, red blood at his neck.

The horns rang through the stadium signaling the end of the bout, and Regis, Secretary Claustra, and Luna were all grasping their microphones and trying to negotiate over each other. Emperor Eidolas, who under sane circumstances should have been the only one speaking, sat leisurely back in his chair, a little smile on his face as he surveyed the havoc his general had wreaked with little more than vague disinterest. In the stadium, Glauca’s foot bore down on Gladio’s chest.

The sound faded from Noct’s ears, and his vision tinged red. 

He felt outside of himself as he snagged the fountain pen where he knew it would rest inside Ignis’ breast pocket and hurled the pen into the open air of the stadium, hearing the crowd roar all around him: he caught it, twisted in midair and executed two more quick warps, landing in the hard-packed dust about twenty feet from Glauca and Gladio. The coliseum loomed wide around him, and if he couldn’t hear anything over the signal horns and the deafening uproar, Glauca probably couldn’t either. He didn’t give a shit.

“Get the fuck off of him.” Noct felt currents of electricity jagged beneath his feet as television wires and myriad power and cable lines fueled the Tournament: he opened his palms and siphoned lightning up to cradle in his hands. Noct was only seventeen, but lightning was easy. Clearing the field for Gladio and the medical responders would be simple: a simple shot to the heart would finish Glauca, regardless of whatever penalty Noct faced.

There was a reason the kings of Lucis did not participate on their own behalf.

Noct dug a foot back into the dirt, bracing himself for the throwback from the lightning. “Leave them alone! You want a fight? I’m right here!”

The crowd had somewhat quieted, straining to hear what Noct was saying, and quieted more as the diplomats’ voices became audible through the din. “Noctis, stand down!” his dad commanded. His voice echoed with the timbre Noct knew well, but was shot through with panic. Secretary Claustra was trying to get the whole event called off due to interference, and Luna, who Noct had never heard raise her voice before, was shouting into her loudspeaker, “-must allow me to reach the field and heal them! The Tournament was never intended to be taken to the point of lethality! If these warriors are not restored, the gods themselves shall not be held accountable for what befalls Niflheim!”

Luna outlasted the rest of them, and a thin silence blanketed the stadium. The air was thick with the anxiety of half a million souls as Emperor Eidolas slowly stood and approached the railing of his box.

"Ladies...gentlemen...my royal cousins," Eidolas dragged it out like he had all the time in the world, like people weren't bleeding out in the earth below his feet. "It seems that years of straining at the reins of frivolous diplomatic trivialities has resulted in the esteemed General's loss of restraint. Despite what insidious rumors may circulate among the masses, we are not an impious people. If the lives of these warriors are to be forfeit, then let this be the favor we request of-"

"Coward!" Noct shouted. Murmurs swept the stadium again. He startled as his own face appeared on half of the massive screens, but an anger like he'd never known drove him on. "Admit it! Your dog got loose, and whether you ordered it or not, you're willing to sit in your stupid chair and let good people die, people with homes, and families, so you can save face! That's bullshit!"

The crowd seemed to consider breaking into riotous applause for a moment, but the massive screens flashed back to Eidolas, watching him with half-lidded, bloodshot eyes, not quite smiling in the lines of his wispy beard. Appraising. Noct didn't need the screens blowing up their images to feel himself being watched. The crowd, too, seemed like it was waiting for him to select his next words.

"I had not realized that the tenderly-bred crown prince of Lucis had grown into a man," Eidolas said in a dreamlike tone when he next spoke. "Capable not only of defying the edicts of much older, more seasoned rulers than yourself, and speaking for and indeed over your father the King in public matters, before millions of onlookers and the citizenry of all nations...but also of staring death in the face in an arena dedicated for warriors. Why, you've practically bloomed overnight," said the older man. "Lucis' only son and heir..."

His dad seemed to make the connection faster than the rest of the crowd, feedback flaring from his microphone speaker. "Your Excellency, I beg prudence in your deliberations," Regis' voice echoed throughout the stadium. Noct heard Luna gasp not quite far away enough from her own speaker, and he realized, with Gladio and the others' lives just laid on the table, that his own was now effectively being weighed against theirs.

Eidolas had played his cards perfectly to walk Glauca, his secret weapon, out against Lucis now, with tentative complacency starting to creep back in after the subjugation of both Accordo and Tenebrae. Noct was the last of his line. Short of some serious genetic scrambling, he was all Lucis had to look forward to. And he wasn't vain, and he may not have been the kind of prince people expected him to be or the kind of successor his dad deserved, but he knew his own father, and losing him would break Regis. Niflheim had raised the stakes and for his efforts, Eidolas now had the power in his hands to deal a crippling blow and wipe out the last real threat to his complete domination of their world. If he demanded Noct's head on a platter, his magic wouldn't be enough to help him. Not even the gods themselves would intervene to stop it.

Gladio's breath was growing heavier, whistling around the gash in his neck as he lost the strength to lift his head. Noct thought somehow, through the mass of noise and sensory overload, he heard Iris crying out Gladio's name.

Eidolas spread his arms wide in a gesture that could have been pacifying, condescending, sympathetic, or basking in his own egotism, and somehow managed to come off like all of them at once. "Of course, we are not animals, scuffling in the dirt," he said with an arch glance at Noct. "Niflheim shall prove its mercy and goodwill towards Lucis, in the intended spirit of the tournament. The Oracle shall not be prevented from working her blessed craft. Those gathered here today in combat shall be granted a fighting chance for survival," he droned, folding his thin hands. "Prince Noctis is clearly a man, standing for his subjects and his allies before all comers. Quite the noble spirit, and useful for a Lucian prince. So I shall ask for nothing that, as a man, he should not be able to grant with very little ease.

"The favor Niflheim shall have of the gathered peoples of Eos and the great Astrals themselves," the Emperor projected into the vast, booming air of the coliseum, "is for Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum to humble himself of his excess of pride and to come to me this night, offering his body up in every way, to be cleaven unto and to satisfy every carnal desire set before him."

You could have heard a pin fall to the stadium floor. 

Gladio gave a wet, gurgling groan from where he lay in the sand as Glauca shifted his boot, grinding him further into the dirt.

"Fine." 

“’Fine’…?” The Emperor smiled down at him beatifically from the huge screens flanking his box.

Noct killed his lightning. “Yeah. ‘Fine’. It’s whatever. Sorry I don’t have a speech.” Murmurs stirred again throughout the crowd, and Regis’ lined, stricken face replaced Eidolas’ on the screen. Noct strode to Glauca, not stopping until he was within an inch of the man’s breastplate. It suddenly occurred to him that the last time he’d been this close to the man, he’d just run Luna’s mother through.

It couldn’t matter.

He got in Glauca’s face and stared into the vacant eyes of his helmet’s plating. “Now get your fucking foot off my Shield.”


	2. Negotiations

The paper bag Ignis had hastily shoved into his duffel contained the tools he'd spoken about to Noct privately. He'd given Noct a brief yet detailed rundown on how to use them, and neither of them had been able to look each other in the eye for a while after. Now he was alone in the fancy marble bathroom of a guest wing of a mansion the Niflheim delegation had settled into in the Accordan countryside, and Noct knew he only had so much time before he was called on. Ignis was standing guard in the suite outside. He'd looked haggard as the sun dipped below the cloudy horizon, but he'd urged Noct into the bathroom nearly as soon as they'd been escorted in and left alone. "The bloody terms didn't specify a time limit on how quickly you arrived once bidden. Just attempt to clear your mind, and relax as much as possible. I'll buy you all the time I can," Ignis had said. "You'll likely need it."

He hadn't been wrong. Noct had burned five minutes, ten, twenty, leaning against the expanse of the long marble sink, studying his own reflection and trying to figure out how a skinny kid with shaggy hair and almost no ass was worth this much trouble to fuck. If the chancellor had been right, it wasn't about who he was, but what he meant. Noct had always hated being stuck up on a pedestal, but it had never felt like this much of an invasion before. But then again, that was probably the Emperor's whole intention.

The kit inside the paper bag came with pretty simple instructions. It still felt weird and clinical enough that coating his fingers with the slippery lube provided hadn't totally impacted him. He messed around with it for a few minutes, sliding the gel between his fingers to warm it the way Ignis had suggested. He unfastened his belt buckle and tugged down his dress slacks and boxers one-handed to kneel on the cold stone floor before the sink.

It wasn't like he'd never thought about guys before, he'd just never thought about what it might mean for him long-term. Some of the guys from his gym class' locker room had wandered into his mind when he was alone: a few times, Prompto had even joined those thoughts, and he purposely tried not to think too hard about that. But whenever he'd been alone and worked up with just his hand, he'd never ventured further back. It had seemed intimidating, an option that was definitely on the shelf, but that he was waiting for a time that felt right to take down and really investigate. Now he wished he'd explored his own body a little more, even in the shower. It might not have felt so weirdly foreign, then, to slide a slickened hand behind himself, over the slight curve of his ass and over his own hole. Just testing, rubbing. Trying to work up the nerve, and ignore how red his own face had grown as he pressed his cheek into the floor.

His own touch didn't feel unpleasant, as he tried to relax and slip the barest edges of his fingertips inside himself. It felt like the tease it wasn't meant to be, but he didn't feel ready to do more than circle and explore in shallow little dips. He added a second fingertip without going too deep and immediately chickened out, wiping his hand off on a washcloth and rising to retrieve the kit from the countertop that was his whole reason for doing this.

The box Ignis had anonymously sent out for contained a couple of bottles with clear solution inside them, and short plastic spouts that were, per the diagram included, for "insertion". Noct studied the pictures of the different ways the box recommended he position himself. If he screwed this up, it'd be even more humiliating, but he already felt surreal as he uncorked a bottle and tried to obediently position himself on the floor again. This time when he reached behind, he slid the smooth, tapered end of the bottle into himself, loosened just enough so that it felt weird, but not painful. Ignis insisted that this was personal but normal, that most who engaged in anal sex did similar stuff to prepare, it was just that nobody talked about it. He'd said it probably sounded weird, but that it didn't mean anything about Noct any more than the rest of the evening. 

Noct gave the bottle a slow squeeze, as the box had instructed, and shivered at the feel of the cool liquid spreading slowly through him. He shuddered on the floor and focused hard on staying relaxed as pleasant goosebumps danced up and down his back and his flushed cheek pressed into the warming pink marble of the bathroom floor.

~*~

The second he entered arm’s reach of his father, Regis reeled him into his side, his grip like iron on Noct’s shoulder. He issued directives like a battlefield commander: get to the boat headed for the Leville through the back of the stadium, avoid the press, go with the EMS, Clarus, you’re no good to me until you’ve seen him. It was indeed a speed boat waiting for them, and the Lucian delegation tore through the waterways, nearly mowing down the smattering of gondolas that froze as best they were able in their path.

“It’s a little late to leave the country, Dad,” Noct tried to joke.

His dad hadn’t looked at him since he’d rejoined their party. If possible, the furrows on his brow deepened. “Wouldn’t that be nice,” he said tersely, and nothing more. Ignis looked up from frantically skimming through his phone to stare at Noct like he was crazy.

Noct tried to busy himself with texting Iris for updates after that.

The Leville was the only luxe hotel in Altissia with a royal suite, even after over two decades of their coliseum exclusively hosting the Tournament. First Secretary Claustra had no need for accommodations within the city and was usually entrusted, per Niflheim, of putting Luna and the Tenebraean delegation up in the secretarial manor house under guard. Lucis and Tenebrae had settled into the necessary arrangement of alternating base camps every year, with one party housed at the Leville and the other renting a suitable, usually ridiculously fancy and expensive house near town, as Altissia’s elite tended to hole up in vast, ancestral homes crafted into its very cliffs with breathtaking views of the city. Lucis had the Leville that year, and Ignis dragged Noct aside immediately on their return.

“Don’t bother yelling at me Specs, I’m gonna get enough of it from my dad and I’d do the same thing over again, so don’t-“

Ignis pressed a bottle of water from the mini-bar into his hands. “Drink this, all of it.” He pressed Noct down into an overstuffed arm chair by the window. Noct tried to twist the cap off the bottle and realized that he was shaking. The chair faced the window and overlooked the harbor. Around the high sides of it, he saw his dad march over to the wide, cherry wood desk that braced the bookshelves in the large public room of the suite and settled himself there, flipping through documents hastily.

He still hadn’t really looked at Noct.

“Hello, room service,” Ignis was saying into the phone that topped the mini-bar, “send a reliable runner to the royal suite as quick as you possibly can. Thank you.”

Noct’s phone blinked with a message at the same time Ignis' chimed in his hand. Noct flew through the message from Iris. “Luna got to them in time. Nobody’s…they’re still alive,” he said, gnawing his thumbnail. Ignis batted his hand down, probably more out of habit than anything else as he surveyed his own screen. “They just got to the emergency room, they’re waiting outside now. Luna…is headed here?” Noct’s eyes widened. “I thought she was supposed to be under house arrest or something.”

“Desperate times,” Ignis muttered to himself, worrying with his glasses. A knock at the door interrupted, and Ignis strode quickly to it, exchanged hushed words with someone in the hallway, slipped them something out of his wallet and closed the door on them again. He returned to Noct and pulled another chair up to the window. “Alright. In light of what just transpired, I need to ask you several questions, so do hold all sass until the end, as this is rather important.” He pulled something up on his phone, and Noct saw that his friend’s hands were shaking too. He stared openly, trying to remember if he’d ever seen that happen before.

“Noct?”

“Um…yeah?”

“Please pay attention,” Ignis said. “How is your back? Any pain at all?”

“Um…no.”

“I’m referring specifically to the Marilith incident,” Ignis clarified. “Have you experienced any negative side-effects whatsoever from the attack recently? Joint pain?”

“No.”

“Swelling or inflammation?”

“No.”

“Lack of mobility that somehow yet permits you to warp?”

“Obviously not.”

“Don’t get smart, I’m on your side,” Ignis said sharply, pausing in his perusal of his phone to glance up at Noct. “Are you taking any over-the-counter medicines for pain or stiffness? Even the most basic pills you can think of?”

“No! What are you looking at?” Noct asked, craning for a glimpse of Ignis’ phone.

“Your complete medical history.”

“Course you are.”

“Listen,” Ignis hissed, leaning close. “I’ll be the last person on this planet to criticize you for what happened today. It was the stupidest move you could possibly have executed on the political spectrum, but your motives were clear and admirable and your actions likely saved Gladio’s life, as well as the other vic…the other competitors. Niflheim obviously had been planning something like this for years. They play a long game. Many were waiting for them to act out again, but their unpredictability benefits them in that nobody could have seen exactly this coming. I have precious few theories as to why the Emperor proposed what he did,” Ignis wiped at his brow absently, and Noct realized he was actually sweating, “but there are very few ways out of it. The only thing I can think of to recuse you from this…obligation, in the eyes of the gods, would be to cite daemonic interference with Astral law, specifically if such a daemonic attack rendered you incapable of adequately…meeting the physical requirements demanded of you,” his advisor fumbled for vocabulary. “There’s no precedent for this, no statue of limitations…so if you can think of anything whatsoever,” he emphasized, “from the Marilith attack that causes you pain to the point where you cannot…perform, what is asked of you, then I need you to tell me now!”

Noct stared at him, speechless, trying to figure out how to respond. He wouldn’t have thought of anything like that. “You…you think Luna would back that up…?”

Ignis laughed shortly. “Right now, it’s literally my only idea. Are you saying…?”

Noct slumped in his chair. “No. I…no, Ignis. I’m sorry. Can’t believe I’m apologizing for this, but…no, I don’t think sex will kill my back. I haven’t had back pain in years, since Luna was able to…what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ignis’ green eyes were wide. “You don’t think?” he croaked. “You ‘don’t think’ sex will impact you? Noct…are you telling me that you have yet to engage in sexual intercourse?”

Noct fell back in his chair, covering his face. “Oh, gods, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now.”

“Well, you had better believe it!” Ignis whispered, darting a panicked glance at Regis, who was murmuring quickly into the desk phone on the other end of the room. “My apologies, I mean…of course, in a perfect scenario one wouldn’t normally be sexually active at seventeen…please tell me you know the basic dynamics, I beg of you…”

“Yeah, Ignis, I know.”

“But do you really?” Ignis demanded, still sneaking nervous looks at the king. “Do you know what to do beforehand? Do you have adequate protection? Oh, Astrals, I’m going to have to send that bellboy out again. Perhaps they have something in the convenience kiosk, surely -“

The door creaked open and Luna swept into the room: Clarus Amicitia, thin-lipped and furious, and the First Secretary, the only one among them not smeared with blood, followed in her wake. The latter two split off towards the king with hesitant glances toward Noct, and Luna flew to him, trailing dust from the coliseum floor in the train of her simple white dress. “Noctis! My dear friend.”

“Hey, Luna.” He hugged her back. “How’re they doing?”

Luna’s face was grave. “When we left the hospital, Gladiolus and the Commondant had been stabilized. They’re still in the intensive care unit, unless you’ve heard otherwise. I believe Altissia’s champion was about to enter surgery. Oh, Noct…” she fussed with his hair, trying to brush it from his eyes, tugging his jacket straight. “Would that we could meet under better circumstances. The champions gathered today likely owe you their lives. Time will tell in regards to health. How are you feeling?”

“Don’t worry about me, Luna.”

“Lunafreya.” Regis’ voice was shaky. He stood by his desk, a hand on his Shield’s shoulder. “Please. Tell me that there is something to be done.” There was a deep grief in Regis’ eyes that made something small and young in Noct’s chest shrivel up and want to crawl under the nearest coffee table to cower.

Luna released Noct and stepped away. “I am so sorry, Your Majesty. Such events as unfolded today were never intended to be an integral part of the Tournament. There have been a few outstanding requests throughout history, but nothing close to this. And yet…my apologies.” She seized Noct’s arm again for support and lowered herself to a couch. “It’s been a strenuous afternoon for healing. As I was saying, the Emperor’s demands may not be in keeping with the spirit of the Tournament, but…the gods are all silent.”

Regis sagged onto the side of his desk, rubbing his hands over his face. The First Secretary shook her head. “Barbaric. I can’t imagine what he must hope to gain through this. There were so many alternatives. Of course, if the rumors of increasing senility are true…”

“Is that the sort of thing that could render him incapable of making decisions of this level on Niflheim’s behalf? Even spiritually, if not legally?” Clarus asked. Secretary Claustra shook her head. “Rumors are all we have, and even if he was inept, Niflheim would never admit it. Generally the winner has taken into consideration the fact that they will have to continue to live alongside their neighbors, treat with them on an international stage. For the Emperor to recklessly disregard this…”

“Why doesn’t he care about the fallout?” Noct barely heard Ignis whisper into his hand. “What is he planning…?”

Clarus helped the king back to his chair. “He must be mad,” Regis said. “To throw away the opportunity he did and ask this instead…he’s not requesting a marriage of state, or custody long-term, or as a prisoner of war. There’s no advantage for Niflheim, only…personal gain.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that at all.”

Ardyn Izunia, Chancellor of Niflheim, stood in the open doorway, bearing a serene smile and a crisp sheaf of documents embossed with Niflheim’s royal seal.

“Why, Lady Lunafreya,” Chancellor Izunia beamed as if he didn’t literally hold Noct’s fate in his hands. “This isn’t the secretarial manor at all. What an unexpected pleasure.” He bowed to Luna with a depth usually reserved for high royalty. Noct saw Clarus Amicitia scowl, and from the looks on his father and Claustra’s faces, they were trying to decide if the chancellor was mocking Luna or snubbing them. “So many impressive personages, all in the same room. Have I intruded on a private gathering? I had no idea these dull martial affairs came with after-parties.”

“Niflheim’s terms, I assume,” Regis said with steel. Izunia glanced at the documents he held as though he had forgotten about them. “Of course. Business before pleasure, Your Majesty.” 

Regis accepted the documents from the man's gloved hands as if he was being asked to handle a live, poisonous reptile. The chancellor rocked back on the balls of his feet, oblivious to Clarus leveling one of the most hateful glares Noct had ever seen in his life through the man. Noct wanted to ask about the papers, about what exactly he was going to have to do; how far he was going to have to go. He wondered if it contained dry medical information and legalese, or something far plainer. His father's face was the same drawn wreck of worry lines it had been since the coliseum, but he couldn't tell what that meant for him based on what he was reading. Luna tugged feather-light at the cuff of his sleeve nearest her, and he settled beside her on the decorative couch, trying to mirror his dad, to actually look as stuck-up and disaffected as people usually seemed to think a prince would be, and tried not to think about the words on the crisp, thick sheets of watermarked paper.

Everyone knew what the punchline would be, anyway.

Minutes passed as Regis slowly, deliberately, flipped his way through the treatise. Every time Noct tried to sneak a casual glance over, his dad was a slightly darker shade of red, a troublesome vein in his neck working overtime, and the First Secretary, watching him in turn, looked slightly more panicked.

Seemingly bored, the chancellor bounced on the balls of his feet and paced the room with the lazy, careless attitude that Ignis had impressed upon Noct throughout his entire childhood that royalty was literally never allowed to assume. He guessed chancellors and princes got different standards for job training. Eventually, Izunia's eyes lighted on Luna again, and he sauntered over to rest on the couch opposite them with a sigh, smiling in a self-deprecating way as he addressed Ignis, out of all of them. "I would be eternally in your debt if you would fetch me a drink, my dear. This _dreadful_ affair has been _such_ a trial to arrange-"

"Yeah, that's not his job," Noct interrupted, catching Ignis' eye and shaking his head. Ignis was still: he hadn't looked ready to move from his shoulder anyway. Ardyn pursed his lips. "I mean no disrespect, of course. Although it is illuminating to receive a glimpse of your...rather fiery diplomatic temperament up close, Your Highness. Lucis is certainly fortunate to rest in the hands of such a passionate young prince..." Noct just glared at him. Luna's hand barely tensed at his wrist, and he couldn't tell if it was a comfort or a warning, but he was glad she was there.

Regis was still reading.

Ardyn was still smiling at Noct.

The tension in the room thickened by the moment.

The chancellor idly fanned himself with his floppy hat. "Do you have any questions for me, dear prince? I am, for the time being, at Lucis' disposal...and we should hate for there to be any confusion as to what is expected of you."

Noct narrowed his eyes. "I think everyone here knows what the deal is. You're here to rub it in everyone's faces."

"Well! I admit, I am perplexed by your reticence in this matter, your highness. You were so quick to speak your mind on the field earlier, though to be sure...you did have a rather pressing incentive, didn't you? Is there any news on that poor Shield of yours, by the by?"

"Go f-"

"My son's affairs from this point on are no concern of Niflheim's," Clarus snapped over Noct, who bit his tongue. 

The chancellor pulled a moue. "What antagonism! It breaks my heart, truly it does. My presence here is entirely for the benefit of Lucis! His highness is such a _fetching_ young man, after all...it would be a shame to see one with such promise brought low. Thus _I_ am here, to ensure the process of honoring the gods' divine will goes as smoothly and... _painlessly_ as possible."

Noct glanced at his dad again to find him a truly concerning shade of scarlet behind his silver beard. He was covering his mouth with one hand, while the other was clutching creases in Niflheim's pretty stationery. "Your Majesty," Clarus said quietly, resting a hand on the back of the king's chair. The First Secretary had distanced herself a foot or so from the desk, as pale as Regis was apoplectic.

Ardyn's smile broadened, unphased. "Ah," he said. "As His Majesty seems rather engrossed, perhaps it falls to me to let you in on the bare bones of the terms, dear prince. You are to be restricted from the use of magic, weapons, and that clever little warping ability you possess in the presence of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor. You shall follow his orders to the letter, regardless of what they may be. For the sake of your youth, and the _divine_ royal blood that runs in your veins, the Emperor extends this courtesy: no substances or tools shall be used upon your person that might be expected to cause lasting damage to your health. We should like to see Prince Noctis live a long, full life - as long as it can be, given the _blessing_ of your crystal, of course. ...Oh, and there's a helpful little index there at the end - I'm not sure whether you've reached it yet, Your Majesty - defining several terms and descriptions for specific instruments that may be called into play upon the prince's person, which I personally feel is quite thorough and comprehensive. Of course, I did help draft it myself, but there's nothing quite like planning ahead, and due credit where-"

Wood scraped loud against wood as Regis shoved back from the desk and stood, turning his face to the bookshelves at his back. He made to grip a shelf with his hands, seemed to stop himself, clenched them into fists and slowly lowered them to his sides. His ears were still flaming against his silver hair.

Noct had never felt so low. "Dad..."

The chancellor clucked to himself, scandal in his tone. "Perhaps impulses of passion run in the family, after all." Clarus turned a fierce look on Ardyn, and he raised his hands innocently. "My deepest apologies for any offense to Lucis... In conclusion, Prince Noctis, there are a number of sub-clauses and paragraphs going into full detail, but I'm sure your dear father - or that capable young advisor of yours! - can fill you in."

"It is a shame to Niflheim," First Secretary Claustra said with a quaking voice, "that such explicit terms should be delivered to a parent, wrapped in the guise of diplomacy."

"Of course." Izunia pressed a hand over his chest, as if it had a heart, which Noct was seriously starting to doubt. "Truly a shame. It is unfortunate that the love of a father cannot always protect one's child from the cruel, unavoidable fate that the gods have ordained for them. Alas...we are all bound to _their_ will."

Regis was as still and quiet as a statue. Noct glanced at Luna, who while not quite glaring Ardyn down with the rest of their small caucus, had tilted her chin high and haughtily in a way that mirrored her brother at the Nox Fleuret's most scandalized and "royal". Her small hand had tightened to a deathlock on Noct's elbow as she met Ardyn's smug gaze.

Something unspoken in the room had been bugging Noct the entire time the chancellor had been there since his arrival. "You said you didn't think the Emperor was doing this for personal gain. You said Niflheim stood to benefit. As in...asking for this over something else. What did you mean by that?"

Ardyn beamed cheerfully at him as if he was a kindergartener who had struck on an unexpectedly bright question. "Oh, His Imperial Majesty has his reasons. Simply put: Niflheim has no need or indeed, desire, for trade with Lucis, or favors of war. We have the utmost confidence towards our future endeavors in _that_ regard. No, imagine if you will, a young prince coming into his - your - rightful place as king. And oh, what a noble, forthright, selfless ruler he is sure to become! Should the Empire not have gone ahead and annexed Lucis by that time - no disrespect, just the facts of war - consider the look on the faces of every diplomat in the free world as they look upon him, knowing that there is no part of your fair country - no part, indeed, of their beloved new king - that Niflheim has not _intimately_ claimed." The golden eyes of the chancellor had locked onto Noct's own like a beacon shooting straight and precise from a Nif base, and Noct felt heat rising in his face, but was unable to look away as Ardyn seemed to address his dad again. "The fall of Lucis will not begin with the destruction of your much-celebrated Wall, Your Majesty, or the inevitable defeat of your Glaives, but with _skin_. By Iedolas' hands will Lucis be truly undone."

"Get out of my sight," Regis whispered.

The horrified gathering didn't dare to move as Ardyn Izunia seemed to blink in genuine surprise. "...Well. I suppose there is much for you to discuss, naturally...as a family. My instructions, per the Emperor, were to return with the terms signed for verification..."

Regis turned sharply, ripped the pages open to the final document, scribbled his signature so recklessly Noct heard paper tearing. He seized the cold iron of Lucis' royal seal, clamped it vengefully over his signature - Noct saw perforated holes in the document when the seal was withdrawn - and actually tossed the papers over his desk and onto the plush carpets of the study floor. "Take your blasted treatise and leave. Now."

Ardyn stood, brushed his pinstriped trousers down, crossed the room and bowed deeply and sardonically to Regis, sweeping the papers up off the carpet as he straightened and tucking them under an arm. "Now, now, there's no need for tempers. Lady Lunafreya," he added, "allow me to escort you back to your _rightful_ place at the secretarial manor...?"

There was nothing that Luna could do but stand: however, the First Secretary cut in front of Ardyn and offered Luna her arm. "We shall take our leave together, dear girl. Your Majesty, Prince Noctis...on behalf of Accordo, I wish you well."

Luna let her hand slip from Noct's arm. She kept her eyes, full of heart and too much regret, on him until the last moment, and then she was gone from his sight again. Chancellor Izunia bowed grandly to the room at large, a player departing a stage he knew full well he had dominated, and closed the study doors firmly behind them all, cold fury and silence swelling in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've bitched/moaned a little about having had a total 1000% mental block in writing Ardyn for this scene, but of course he had to be present for this, because where else would he be but directly in the front row of this with 3-D glasses and a "GET FUCKED LUCIS" t-shirt? So in the end, in the same way that they tenderly took the PS3 controller and plowed fearlessly through the Zombie Mom Quest in Dragon Age 2 when I totally wimped out of it, my spouse-creature, who prefers to remain anonymous, championed the bulk of Ardyn's dialogue for his scene.
> 
> They're so good at scripting both political intrigue and smarmy immortal cockwaffles..... *tears up a bit*
> 
> Porn is incoming, I swear, y'all! I mean...I assume, when one is royalty, one does not simply *have sex*... (Without a metric ton of red tape and like three separate permission slips, at least.)


	3. Preparations

"Clarus...Ignis," Regis said after a long moment. "I require a moment alone with my son."

Ignis nearly bolted for the door, which was weird for him. Clarus closed it behind them more gently, and Noct found himself kind of afraid to actually be alone with his dad after the scene the chancellor had caused; it had already been awkward enough after the Tournament. He'd been checking his dad for any kind of recognition of him, any sign of compassion, but with the clock ticking on him now, and how angry Regis had been before - even if it had been towards Chancellor Izunia - Noct was more nervous to be alone with his father than he was anxious that he was pissed at him. 

He wondered if that was more of Niflheim, trying to get in their heads.

Noct settled for examining his hands instead, picking at his nails the way Ignis hated. "Look, Dad...you saw what happened the same as I did, so I'm not really going to waste time justifying it. You probably already saw like, three different ways out of that besides what I did. And I know I need to think more before I fly off and do stuff like this, that you probably think is really stupid. And I'm sorry you had to read that sh...that stuff. But...a king has to stand for his people, like you're always saying. And that includes Gladio, and the fighters from Tenebrae and Accordo who couldn't say anything even on a good day. So even though this is gonna be...well. I don't regret doing it. I wouldn't regret it even if that asshole had asked for worse. I'm sorry everybody knows about it though...I'm sorry I have to embarrass y-"

Dark wool engulfed his view as Regis, who had apparently limped across the room while he'd been babbling, tugged him into a tight embrace. Noct felt annoying tears stinging his eyes and buried his face in his father's shoulder as Regis' surprisingly strong hands wrapped around his back.

"On the contrary," Regis said in a raspy tone, and Noct huffed a laugh to realize they were both approximately as fucked up. "You made me proud today, Noctis. You made all of us proud." His fingers tightened. "That does not mean that if you attempt anything similar in the future, I shall not be forced to pull you out of school and lock you in the Citadel for the next twenty years."

Noct shook his head as his father released him. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, dad." When he looked at Regis' face it was a tangle of worry. "Did those papers...?"

"He expects you to follow orders," Regis said tersely. "That was the gist of it. I...I am unsure of how to guide you, Noctis. The events of today should never have come to pass."

Noct sighed. "So...like...'lie back and think of the Astrals'?" Regis winced. "Um. Sorry, Dad."

"If that sense of humor makes the situation more bearable, you could do worse than rely on it," said the king. "But I should highly discourage you from making such comments when you are alone with....later this evening. The Emperor's moods have been known to change rather suddenly, and without warning." He scrubbed at his face with both hands. "Gods all take it. I should have required you to begin sitting in on meetings of state years ago. You would have at least had some idea for comportment..."

"I live with Ignis," Noct shrugged. "I know what to do and say well enough in front of important people to avoid getting beans for dinner for a week. I think I'll be okay. ...I can take care of myself, Dad. Just trust me?"

Regis clasped his shoulder meaningfully. "...Come home safe, Noctis. After it's all over...just come home to us."

Overwhelmed, Noct could only nod.

A knock at the door interrupted them. "Come in," Regis commanded, and Clarus opened the door. Ignis stood there, clutching a paper bag from the concierge desk and a manila envelope Noct hadn't seen before. "We don't have much time, I'm afraid, Your Majesty. There are a few things to pack, and I must speak with Noct alone as a matter of confidence."

"You have another visitor too, Your Majesty," Clarus said, frowning faintly as if stumped by a puzzle.

Regis mirrored his perplexed frown. "Not Niflheim. Not again...."

"No, Sir."

"I'm gonna go, Dad," Noct stood. "Ignis is right. I'll...I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Just try not to worry?"

There was something held back in Regis' pale eyes as he studied Noct's face. When he spoke, it was with regret. "The gods go with you, my son."

Noct nodded to Clarus before he stumbled out into the hallway. 

Ignis hesitated a moment before following him, scanning the hall for passers-by before clearing his throat. "If I may speak freely, Your Majesty...?"

Regis sighed. "Proceed."

"It would not be amiss to contact Lucian intelligence on a secure line to apprise them of the situation," Ignis said carefully, glancing at Clarus as well. "The location of Niflheim's rental outside of the city is well-known. The chancellor made it quite clear that Niflheim intends to use rumors of this...incident...to their advantage. If our cyber control team could manuever an interception so that they were able to access any video footage inside the estate, and then reroute or destroy the footage from the on-site servers..." Ignis trailed off expectantly. "It shall be difficult, if impossible, to protect Noct through the events to come. But Niflheim has made it perfectly clear that they intend to benefit from smearing his name based on this...encounter. If we cannot protect Noctis, then we could at least attempt to safeguard his image and its distribution."

Regis rubbed a hand over his mouth, deep in thought. "Such actions would, of course, be interpreted as an act of war..."

"Only if you are caught."

An older gentleman with hair caught back in braids that shone like the moon and a melodious ring in his voice had appeared behind Ignis in the doorway. Clarus looked at him in abject relief, nearly a smile, which after the events of the day was saying something. The king himself looked as though he'd just been struck across the face with a two-by-four. "Weskham..."

Weskham nodded a greeting. "I remember a time when Lucian cyber warfare could evade any Nif technologies by leaps and bounds. Even if such programs and tech age at an accelerated rate - which for old dogs like us, is saying something - it must be worth a try. For the prince." He smiled at Ignis. "Not a bad idea."

Regis sighed. "I...shall take it under consideration. Thank you for your input, Ignis. Would you...tonight, when he..."

Ignis bowed to his king. "I intend to stay by his side for as long as possible, Your Majesty. Noctis will not be alone. I swear it."

"Go, then."

Weskham watched the young man depart until Clarus closed the doors behind them all, securing the study. "I rather like that one. He doesn't miss much, does he? Wherever did you dig him up?"

"The Scientias are an ambitious family," Regis mused faintly, staring at Weskham as though he was seeing a ghost. "Their loss is the crown's gain. Ignis has proven worth his weight in gold on a number of occasions. ...What are you doing here, Weskham?" he demanded as his former steward fetched a cheap-looking bottle from the minibar and sniffed it disapprovingly. 

"Well..." Weskham trailed off thoughtfully as Clarus took up his place at Regis' side. "It isn't just me, Reg. Cid is on his way over from the hospital now."

"Cid? Oh, what have I done to him now," Regis sighed, slumping back on the couch. "I'm afraid I'm not up to a row this evening, Weskham, as my son is about to be handed over to an ancient madman in a number of hours, and I shall be up cursing the gods all night."

"He's not coming here to fight, and I haven't either." Weskham handed both the king and Clarus a drink before pouring a third and fourth. "He happened to be in town, and staying with me. When we heard on the news, about your boys..." He looked back and forth at the two men before him, regret creasing his handsome brow. "I did try to remind him that we have this perfectly good twenty-year feud going on, but unfortunately, the old man wasn't having any of it. He refuses to stay away. I believe he went to the hospital looking for you first, Clarus, but he should be arriving any minute now."

Regis frowned into his drink, his eyes more than a little misty. "I...don't understand."

Weskham knelt on the carpet before the aged king who had once been his dearest friend. "Noctis will not face this ordeal alone, Regis. His friends go with him. And yours will be with you, both of you, until your sons come home."

The Accordan sunset sank low, purple and bronzed behind the tops of the Altissian cliffline. As a hazy golden light filled the room through it tall windows, King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII slowly set his drink aside, raked his hands through brittle silver hair, lowered his head and wept.

~*~

Ignis, as it turned out, had run after the chancellor.

"That man is even more unpleasant the closer to him you get," he'd said once he caught up to Noct again. Noct had retreated to a couch in their own rooms, determinedly wrinkling his fancy suit by bunching up on the couch, and looking up pictures of the Emperor in the search tool on his phone. 

Ignis frowned when he saw and pushed Noct's fingernails down from his mouth again. "You'll make yourself bleed if you keep that up. Don't think about it now. Per the chancellor we have about an hour until Niflheim will have a car waiting at the marina near the cliffs. We're...expected."

"Great," Noct muttered, and then realized. "...Wait, 'we'?"

Ignis set his packages aside and collected Noct's vest, jacket and tie from where he'd flung them around the room. "Naturally. Go have a shower and I'll see what I can do for this suit in the interim. Busy hands shall see us through," he insisted, and Noct almost wanted to believe him.

He'd probably taken too long in the shower, hoping time would just stop, and he'd never have to face the craven, white-haired maniac from the pictures on his phone. However, Ignis was knocking on the door sooner than he would have liked. They talked through the bathroom door as Noct ran a brush through his hair - there was no way in hell he was dressing up more than that - and Ignis fiddled with the steaming iron. He ran through condom use, despite Noct's protests that he'd gotten the rundown in school, because - Ignis reminded him - as a lifelong military man with over eighty years to 'pick things up' and someone who, as Emperor, obviously thought rules and precautions did not apply to him, Noct could do worse than attempt to safeguard against STDs. "Especially without ready access to _his_ medical information," Ignis grumbled, attempting to shine Noct's shoes, previously covered in dust and sticky spots of blood. "Bloody tyrant..."

Noct's phone chimed, and he bit his lip when he saw who it was. 

"Update from Iris?"

"Um...no. One sec," Noct said, typing a quick response to Prompto's brief, worried text. He shoved his phone into his (newly-ironed) trouser pocket and opened the door to face Ignis. "So...we don't have time to get into it now. But apparently the news in Insomnia's already picked up on...well. What happened."

"That's to be expected. It was a highly publicized event," Ignis reminded him carefully.

"Yeah...well...Prompto's worried. I told him Gladio's okay for now, but..." Noct shook his head. "I...I don't have the time. Not for everything, not before..."

Ignis was at his side, a hand on his shoulder. "Breathe to a count of four, in through your nose, out through your mouth. I can fill Prompto in on the bare minimum later and try to answer any technical questions he may have. That way, the two of you can discuss specifics...or not...whenever you are ready."

They lingered in their rooms until the last possible minute. Ignis had acquired some kind of kit through the bellhop and doggedly talked Noct through the whys and hows of self-administering an enema while Noct hid his head under the silk throw pillows on the couch and tried to smother himself. Then he'd produced a large tube of lubricant and attempted to narrate different techniques for stretching an asshole until Noct grabbed the tube out of his hands and begged him to please, c'mon Specs, I get it, just stop...

"Well, there's never such a thing as too much information," Ignis said stiffly, about as red as Noct and looking anywhere else.

The predictably-slow gondolas and general reluctance had almost made them late to meet the car. They had barely spoken on the way, and MT guards had silently escorted them to a secluded wing of the house, obviously not in use, with the hallway lights barely turned up. 

Actually using the enema kit had been one of the most embarrassing experiences of his life, but it sent pleasurable chills dancing on his skin, too physical, too close, and suddenly it was all real. He wasn't in just any fancy estate, any rich Accordan's bathroom. The Niflheim flag raised in the sprawling front lawn was there for a reason. Ignis was the only person there he could trust, because the halls were lined with robot soldiers with weapons, probably more security built into the house, and it was all there to cater to the whims of the old man. That old man, the Emperor, sat somewhere in the house like a spider in a web, waiting for Noct to be brought to him, and everyone and everything around him was hard-wired to ensure it happened.

Despite having washed earlier, Noct nearly ripped his suit off trying to get into the shower and turned the cold water on full blast, trying to breathe into his hands and somehow shed the crawling sensation beneath his skin.

~*~

Noct didn't know how long he let the water run, but when he turned it off, he could hear voices in the suite outside, Ignis' chief and loudest among them. He went through the motions of piecing his suit back together and by the time he was nearly done, the voices were gone again.

As he struggled with his cuff links, his eyes landed on the tube of lubricant on the counter, and he remembered.

Noct eased his slacks down again and supported himself on the marble counter. He could feel his fingers shaking as he eased one into himself again, slow but deep, trying to force himself to relax from the waist down and still stay standing. His nerves were shot, but he knew he was on the clock, and he had zero idea what Ignis was saying or doing out there for his sake. He added another finger before he was ready, wincing, gasping as he sprawled on the countertop. 

Something inside felt like humming to his nerves when he brushed it. He hadn't expected that.

He tried the scissor motion that Ignis had mentioned, slowly, over and over, and felt something like pressure building inside him. He still felt his muscles straining against a third finger, but it was easier in general than it had been. More than that, brushing over that good spot inside of him was causing his cock to take interest, and focusing on that allowed his ass to relax and loosen up, and for him to get deeper, and focus on that spot...

As Noct was considering hiking a leg up on the counter for better access, he realized what was happening with a cold shudder, Iedolas' smug face from the big screens that afternoon leaping unbidden to his mind. Noct gasped, nearly tearing his fingers out of himself, and quickly washed his hands in the bathroom sink. His reflection in the mirror was alien, his hair a wreck, his face flushed dark, and beneath the cover of his bangs, his blue eyes were huge and dark, pupils blown.

Noct's hands were shaking so hard he could barely fasten his pants. The guy in the mirror in front of him was somebody he didn't know, and the slickness along his ass, the feeling of emptiness that made him want to clench his muscles there purely for the sensation, was an undeniable reminder of how good it had just felt to be that.

And Iedolas was going to see everything.

He was completely fucked.

"Crap," Noct whispered to the echoing bathroom walls. 

~*~

The people Ignis had been fighting with were back by the time they'd emerged, and those people were robots.

"[Orders to escort-]"

"Yes, we understand!"

"[-Prince _Noctis Lucis Caelum_ to-]"

"He's not quite ready, give us a little more time-"

"[-to the Emperor's quarters,]" the large MT hummed and croaked, and started to repeat itself on loop over Ignis' protests. Three more MTs blocked the doors of the suite. Noct didn't know if their eyes glowing red were a bad thing, or if that was just the color bulb they used, or what. 

He'd actually never seen an MT that close before.

"Can I just get, like...two minutes?" Noct asked quietly. He held up his cuff links in his trembling fingers. "I'm having a little trouble, here."

Both Ignis and the MT jerked their heads around to look at him, which was almost funny. "[Prince _Noctis Lucis-_ ]"

"Two minutes!" Ignis snapped at the machine. It went quiet again, considering Noct, before buzzing, "[ _Two minutes_. Acceptable. Delay. We will resume in _two minutes-_ ]"

"Yes, fine, wonderful. Do get out," Ignis said, trying to hustle the jerking, crackling MTs out the door without actually touching them. When the doors slammed behind them Ignis sighed heavily, leaning against the door handle. Noct watched him, biting his lip through the guilt. "Sorry, Ignis."

His friend shook his head, and when he turned to face Noct, it was with a weary smile. "Never mind that. One wanders if the Empire was so hard up for staff who would enable sexual assault that he simply built robotic servants who won't take no for an answer, either. Your sleeves...?"

Noct held his wrists out and didn't complain about it as Ignis quickly pinned him up for the third time that day. "At least I got the tie right this time," he tried to joke.

Ignis hummed. "Actually, I was just about to straighten that, but bother it. He'll have to take you as you are." His words settled, and they both froze. "I...Noct, I'm sorry, that was careless of me."

"I freaked out in the bathroom," Noct admitted. "It actually felt good, Ignis. I _really_ don't need it to feel good! What am I supposed to do now? What does that mean..."

"It's perfectly normal, and it means you're in good company," Ignis said forcefully. "People wouldn't have been indulging in these activities for thousands of years if there wasn't some kind of payoff. Otherwise it's just rather messy and inconvenient, really. A terrible bother, sex." Noct almost found himself smiling. "It isn't ideal, under the circumstances, but...believe me. You're going to be perfectly fine."

"I don't _want_ him, Ignis," Noct let himself admit it around the knowledge that it didn't matter, had never mattered. "He's a million-year-old dickbag."

"I know," Ignis said. "If there were any way to avoid it..."

"What was it like the first time you did it?" Noct had to know. Ignis wrinkled his nose indelicately. "I was eighteen, myself. Neither of us knew what we were doing, and it was disgusting, but it was over quickly, which I suppose was the one highlight. I had to sneak out of his window so his father wouldn't catch us, and there were leaves in my... _clothing_...for days." Noct did laugh then, shakily, and Ignis smiled back at him. "So you see, utter disaster. As nature intended. You're following in a glorious tradition."

"I bet Gladio's been with a ton of girls," Noct said. 

Ignis huffed. "I shouldn't be so sure...but that's for him to say. I'm sure the two of you are due for a long chat, once he's on the mend." He clapped Noct's shoulder and steered him gently to the door, which Noct was grateful for, because otherwise he didn't think he could have moved his feet.

Chancellor Izunia was waiting with the MT units in the hallway. 

"Why, good evening, boys! Or should I say, gentlemen," he oozed with one of his wide stage bows. "I had come to investigate why the units I had programmed _personally_ seemed to be malfunctioning, as you were requested in His Imperial Majesty's chambers some time ago...but to my vast relief, they seem to be in proper working order." He smiled cheerfully at Noct. "And do that can only mean...issues with the terms? They did detail that you were to follow instructions precisely, and not on a half-hour delay, Your Highness..."

"Just...getting ready," Noct said, cursing his voice as it cracked. 

Izunia seemed pleased and unflappable as ever. "Of course...such jitters are to be expected. How very charming. Allow me to escort you the rest of the way myself, to prevent any further delays. It behooves _none_ of us to keep the Emperor waiting..."

~*~

He hadn't been able to talk to Ignis after that.

The estate felt so much like Niflheim, he could see why they'd rented this one out. The walls were set cavernously apart and white-washed with more sculptures and ornamental vases lining it's halls than the dramatic oil paintings Lucis favored. There were few windows and the ones they passed were already the deep black of a night with no city glare nearby to cut through the pitch. The length of the corridors and the pounding of his pulse made hardlya minute's walk, flanked by the four MTs with Ardyn Izunia leading their procession, feel as if it dragged out even longer. 

Iedolas' wing was better-lit, and MTs with red lightning sparking at their joints stood post outside of the broad doors of what apparently stood as the estate's Master suite. With Izunia still smiling down at him, waiting, he couldn't give in to his nerves, couldn't delay, couldn't even say much to Ignis. He wasn't expecting both their phones to go off at once, artificial chimes echoing in the wide hall.

Noct got to his phone first, ignoring the chancellor's sigh. "They're moving Gladio out of the IC tonight, putting him in a private room," he told Ignis, a flare of excitement gearing him up in spite of himself. "Can you try to keep in contact with Iris? And...maybe text Prompto what we talked about? Don't want him to be up reading the news all night."

"Of course," Ignis said, depositing their bags on a hallway bench and accepting Noct's phone as he passed it to him. "Your Highness."

Ardyn had drifted somewhat into the path of the doorway when Noct turned around. " _Excuse_ me," he said gruffly, letting the hopeful adrenaline carry him forward. He shouldered past the older man hard, and found himself standing in a lavish, dimly-lit stateroom. A long wood table laid out with serving trays gleamed before a lit fireplace, the the Emperor was unmistakable in white evening robes at the distant end.

"I would rather stay, thank you Chancellor," he heard Ignis say in the hall. The door started to creak shut, a glowing MT behind the door reaching out to close it slowly behind them.


	4. A Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so greatly appreciate every single person who's encouraged me throughout this fic, because A.) it's really helped me to keep chugging through when I haven't come close to finishing a multi-part writing project in 11+ YEARS, no lie, and because B.) I CATEGORICALLY REFUSE to take sole credit for 30,000+ words of political age-difference emotionally distressing rape fic (and counting!!?) Y'all have been voluntold, kids. This garbage fire takes a damn village.
> 
> *blows kisses*

“I am not accustomed to waiting on the whims of insolent boys,” Iedolas said, his voice even softer than usual across the length of the room. “Come here.”

Noct shrugged. The last thing he was going to do was apologize for refusing to enable his own rape. He made his way across the room as casually as possible, even though he never felt normal in a suit, and stopped in front of the fire ten feet or so from the Emperor.

To say Niflheim and Lucis weren’t exactly on sit-down terms would be an understatement, but Niflheim seemed so remote from the outside world that, from his distracted phone search, Noct had hardly been able to find any pictures of the man from the last twelve years or so. There were plenty of old photos of him at military ceremonies or state functions in what must have been his glory days, but the red-bearded man with the broad belly and crooked smile had declined into age and softness. The only red left in his hair was the glow from the fireplace logs, and Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt wore what appeared to be his usual semiconscious, dreamlike demeanor, along with what Noct now realized were long, embroidered evening robes over a silk undershirt. He barely spared a bleary glance at Noct as he returned to cutting his food. “They do dress you up rather prettily, don’t they,” the Emperor mused. “You shan’t need any of it. Undress. And feel free to take your time about that…”

Noct’s stomach sank. He couldn’t quite look at the man as he tugged his tie pin loose, and the cufflinks Ignis had helped him with. He slipped them in his trouser pocket and willed his hands not to shake as he examined the wallpaper and tried not to think about the last few layers of defense he had, being peeled away with his own hands.

Ignis had been right when he’d said that Iedolas was going to have to take him or leave him. Noct had never taken his clothes off on purpose with anyone before, the way he’d never done a lot of things with anybody before. He wasn’t exactly a master of finesse: when he took off a jacket, he just…took off his jacket. And usually, he wasn’t being sized up like a piece of meat when he did it. Noct kept having to remind himself to go slow, and he knew the sudden pauses were making his movements jerky and weird, but he didn’t really care if it was doing it for the Emperor or not. He tossed his tie to join his jacket on a nearby chair, starting on his vest as the tie slowly slipped to pool on the ground instead.

Iedolas scoffed softly – but Noct was starting to think he did everything softly, While he lined up his psychotic seconds-in-command to actually level their blades at your throat. “Some might consider it ungrateful to take so little care with such an expensive suit.”

“It’s just clothes,” Noct shrugged out of his shirt, the chill that settled on his skin chased away quickly by the heat of the fireplace. “Not like I’m playing with peoples’ _lives_ or anything.” He chanced a look up at Iedolas’ face to try to gage a reaction, but got nothing. He wondered if he’d even been heard. Iedolas raised a bony hand for Noct to stop as Noct tried to just tug his belt loose. “I believe I said _slowly_.”

Noct sighed impatiently, and Iedolas twitched a tiny smile. “I hadn’t realized you were so very eager for this.”  
“No! I…it’s not…” Noct trailed off, unsure what he was defending. None of his options were good. He lowered his eyes to the carpet, wanting to crawl under it as heat lit his cheeks.

He didn’t have to see the Emperor to hear his barely-there chuckle. “Guileless. Why, you’re barely out of the schoolroom, aren’t you?” Noct bit his lip and tried to concentrate on unzipping his slacks at what felt like a noticeably glacial pace. “I almost pity you, alone in the deep end…so much for that cocksure young man in the coliseum.” Noct’s tasted blood with the effort it took not to say something back and dig himself in deeper. He dropped his black boxer briefs with his trousers and kicked them over with the rest of his clothes before just peeling off his socks and discarding them, seeing no conceivable way to do that sexily.

Noct realized as he stood up, however, that he probably could have stood to take a little more time, on his end. Because when he straightened, he was naked in front of the man who conceivably owned him for the evening, with no power on Eos to save him.

Noct shivered, and the Emperor smiled.

Making him nervous was probably part of the plan, Noct reminded himself as he was surveyed. The Emperor poured himself another glass of wine and swirled it thoughtfully as his bloodshot gaze roamed up and down Noct’s body. He usually didn’t know what to do with his hands when he was just standing around, but the urge to clench or unclench his fists, fold his arms, anything, was a thousand times worse like this. Finally, Iedolas spoke. “Rather underfed, aren’t you? Hands behind your head, and turn about for me. And when I say slowly,” he added, “I do mean that, whelp.”

Noct twitched as he tried to keep his face impassive and snarl-free. He raised his hands, trying to imagine he was moving through water – hopefully that was slow enough for the older man’s tastes – and pivoted in place, even more exposed. With every inch he gave in, every demand he met, he felt more of an urge to lower his eyes and crawl inwards on himself. His face burned in shame as he turned to face the fireplace, and stopped when he heard Iedolas make an interested noise.

“Rather grotesque, isn’t it?” the older man asked in the half-asleep way of his. “A shame about that scar. I suppose you haven’t had the opportunity to repulse lovers with it yet, have you?”

“Do you want me to answer that?” Noct said through gritted teeth. _Slowly._

Iedolas sighed. “Keep turning.”

By the time Noct faced him again, the Emperor was tearing into a dinner roll. “Kneel. Let’s see how well they teach princes to crawl in Lucis.”

Noct was shaking with barely-repressed anger as his knees met the carpet. Shuffling felt ridiculous, so he lowered his hands without being told. He still had to take a second to process, to force himself to move forward, slowly, hand and knee, hand and knee…he’d never been so glad to have like, no ass, in his life, because he already felt ridiculous enough rolling his hips and shoulders as he crawled. He kept his eyes down, even after he reached Iedolas’ side, even with the man’s knees and face flushed like a beacon.

Thin, bony fingers, surprisingly strong under loose skin, hooked his chin and forced his face up: Noct’s eyes flew to the Emperor’s instinctively, but not for long, as his face was directed from side to side. He was hoping his messy bangs hid as much of his expression as possible, because he’d never felt so vulnerable. He was full-on shaking trying to rein himself under control, and now Iedolas could feel it. “Look at me, whore,” he said. Noct hesitated, hating him more with every second that passed than he’d previously thought possible, because doing what he was told meant acknowledging that word as _him_.

Iedolas was smiling with the serenity of someone who knew he was going to have his way. “Despite your…disappointing musculature, you do have rather fascinating eyes. And soft enough lips, I suppose…” Noct shuddered as a weathered thumb toyed with his lower lip thoughtfully. “I can see how one might spend time and effort on such a face and come away satisfied. At least with blushes like that,” he left Noct’s lips alone to soothe the back of his bony knuckles over the curve of Noct’s cheek, “I suppose I needn’t worry about where you’ve been. Surprising, with the filth you spout in the presence of your betters.”

“There aren’t any here,” Noct growled, looking him straight in the eye.

Wine splashed suddenly in his face. Noct coughed in surprise and raised a hand to wipe himself off, but a frosty _“Leave it,”_ halted him. He looked up incredulously as he lowered his hands, bitter liquid dripping from his chin and onto his bare chest. The Emperor had turned again to pour himself yet another glass, set it aside, and resumed sawing into a steak as Noct sat, wordless, dripping and disgraced at his feet.

Iedolas left him there for at least a few minutes, stewing in rage as he fussed with his plate. From what Noct had experienced so far, he thought bitterly, the asshole could just go on eating as long as he pleased if it meant less attention on him. His luck didn’t hold for long, though. Iedolas began to glance sidelong at him, silently sizing Noct up as he chewed. “What have you eaten lately?”

Noct glared. “I’m fine.”

Iedolas’ thin lips stretched in a sneer. “I require you to have something in your stomach. If you intended to feign unconsciousness and relieve yourself of my company this evening, you are mistaken.” He picked up a rough piece of steak from his plate. To Noct’s horror, he brought it to the prince’s lips. “Eat.”

He tried to turn his head, and clenched his teeth just in case. “It’s _fine,_ ” he muttered, hoping whatever gods were watching didn’t decide to strike him down for dragging his heels.

“I did not ask.” The older man practically caressed his lower lip with the meat. Noct could smell it sharply, feel the oils on his lips, knew what it would taste like, and flushed darker still as he realized the parallel. What this was supposed to be.

He barely parted his lips before Iedolas thumbed the meat into his mouth, pressing it deep and sliding his tongue over Noct’s tongue as he withdrew, the sensation drawing a shiver out of him. “Get on with it.” Noct chewed reluctantly. Another piece of meat was offered him before he was finished, about an inch in front of his face. Noct looked at it in dread, looked up at Iedolas, and found the man already watching him, bored and expectant under his snowy eyebrows.

Noct swallowed. Before he could think too much about it, with the color burning high in his cheeks, he leaned forward and quickly took the next greasy scrap from Iedolas’ fingertips.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two, but every move he made felt like it was under a magnifying glass. The food was tasteless through his fury and Noct almost wished the Emperor would just get on with it. His real wish was that the man would suddenly suffer a much-overdue heart attack and drop dead, but even if all he had to do was lie on a bed and spread for him, it wouldn’t actually involve his cooperation. He wouldn’t be forced to bring himself to this, to sit by and idly obey. He didn’t know what would happen to him if he just got to his feet and left, if either the MTs at the door would move to try to stop him, or if they’d let him walk out and doom Lucis to whatever retribution the Astrals would invoke.

He was so lost to his thoughts that he didn’t fully process that he was being spoken to for a moment, until those thin, powerful fingers seized his chin and tilted his head up. “Open,” Iedolas said, tapping his lower lip, and Noct realized what he meant a moment before his nose was held shut and Iedolas’ glass shoved past his lips. He nearly gagged, choking as the wine rushed down his throat, spilling over his lips as he tried to cope and swallow as quickly as he could. The stuff was strong and bitter, as he’d barely tasted when it was thrown at him. He tried not to puke it up on Iedolas’ fine white robes.

Noct instinctively tried to raise his hands to steady the glass, to back it off, and was caught short by a hiss. “I should think twice about raising your hands to me again, if I were you.” The old man’s eyes were glazed and fascinated as he watched Noct struggle. There was nothing he could do but fist his hands on his thighs and swallow as Iedolas made a mess of him.

As Iedolas finally withdrew the glass, Noct struggled to swallow what was left in his mouth, going to wipe his face instinctively: another impassive glare from the Emperor halted him, and he lowered his hands again. It got him an amused little smile, and Noct felt like gagging from more than the wine. “Perhaps you can be trained after all…at least behind closed doors,” the man mused, his light gaze skimming over Noct. “Clearly you need a firm hand. That fool Regis must have simply let you run wild all these years.”

Noct’s eyes flashed as he met Iedolas’. “You don’t _deserve_ to talk about my dad.”

His cheek lit up as the Emperor backhanded him sharply, so sudden that Noct couldn’t react – or maybe the wine that was spreading a flush down his arms was dulling his senses already. “You seem to be mistaken. This is not a conversation,” Iedolas said with lazy ease, settling back in his armchair. “I shall discuss your idiot of a father as much and as often as I choose. And you shall behave…and be silent. Consider it an order.”

~*~

The less Noct tried to think about it, the more glaring everything became, and he failed to retreat into his own head.

Every mocking touch was new and significant. His embarrassment was magnified and unending. He hesitated as long as possible, literally dragging his feet, when the Emperor ordered him up into his armchair, kneeling over his lap, hands white-knuckling the back of the chair and far too close to the old war criminal for comfort. He’d never considered sharing breath with him until it was happening, and immediately looked away to the subtle, spiraling loops in the wallpaper. Iedolas didn’t seem to require his participation to lave the wine from his neck and chest, torturing one of his nipples until the chair creaked under Noct’s grip and he struggled with his own control, mouth open in a silent scream and trying not to alert Ignis in the hall to what was happening. The age-soft skin of the man’s hands down his sides, palming his ass, actually got his interest, and the ensuing harsh scrape of nails did little to chase that away. His skin was buzzing, he was too sweaty, his head was so hazy he felt that if he eased his grip on the wooden chair back he’d fall off of it, and the wine was quickly muddying his judgment, driving his reactions and nearly causing him, in waves, to forget why he was protesting.

Then Iedolas brushed sharp nails along the cleft of his ass, felt the slickness there, and paused. Noct shivered as the man slowly raised his head to smile at him, fiendish and sincere. “So,” he said. “…eager, are we?”

It was how Noct had been forced on wobbling legs to clear a spot on the table and found himself spread over the glossy wood like an entree, two knuckles deep and stretching himself, painful from stress and lack of any new lubricant, at Iedolas’ directions. And he wouldn’t. Shut. Up.

“At least you’re fit enough, thin as you are,” he mused as Noct stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore his erection. “That didn’t take particularly long, now did it? One wonders if your youth is entirely to blame for your present condition, or if any credit is due to your proclivity for whoring yourself out like garbage. Such talent,” Iedolas mocked him. The timing was shit: Noct accidentally curled his fingertips against the spot from before that had made his toes buzz, and he choked on a blissful gasp. Through the haze his mind had become, he heard Iedolas snicker at him. “Or perhaps this is the only use you truly serve for your _beloved_ country…”

The armchair creaked, and around a rustling of wool and satin, Noct heard the Emperor move. He stalked him slowly, moving into Noct’s field of vision and gazing on his prone, miserable form for a long moment. Noct had almost no warning before wiry hands wove into his hair and jerked it painfully to the side. Something cold and smooth – rounded glass – was pressed to his lips. Noct refused to simply open again, eyes watering as he strained to stare up at Iedolas.

“Open.”

Determined to make him fight for every inch, Noct slowly parted his lips. Either the Emperor was more worked up than his layers of robes let on, or Noct had just managed to piss him off that much – probably a little of both – because he shoved the thick glass wand in the moment Noct parted his lips enough, teeth clacking on the glass: it struck the back of his throat and he coughed violently. Tears sprang to his eyes and Noct gagged over and over, yanking his own hair still caught in the older man’s clawlike grip, trying to get away and not to throw up around the wand. He wrapped his fingers around the sides of the table and struggled to ride the new invasion out.

Iedolas’ expression never changed from that serene condescension he’d been leveling at Noct the whole time, but something excited and vengeful lurked at the corners of his eyes. Just as Noct was grasping at the edges of control – and the table – Iedolas began easing the quickly-warming phallus in and out over his tongue, always hard and careless against his tonsils. “Wet that, and do not vomit,” he said as if Noct was no more interesting than any routine paperwork that passed his way. “Not that one expects much from an unruly brat such as yourself…but I truly detest wasting food.”

Noct’s glare was met only with quiet laughter and his throat being fucked deeper: he had to fight to adjust with every deep slide in that teased his gag reflex. The hand in his hair barely gentled to rough strokes. Noct tried to pretend that the tears pricking his eyes were the product of nearly coughing up his entire throat, and not the acute humiliation of being examined like a butterfly pinned on a board.

The ridges on the glass phallus kept catching at his palate, and it was almost worse when the Emperor jerked the wand free, severing a string of spit from Noct’s lips with a deft flick of his wrist. “Adequate,” he said, slowly returning to his chair, only to pull it up to the edge of the table.

Noct closed his eyes and sucked in deep lungfuls of air. The drum of too-sharp fingertips on his inner thigh made him nearly jump off the table, and when he instinctively tried to close his legs, those fingers pinched him hard until he hissed. "Look at me," the old man instructed. Noct cracked an eye to find Iedolas standing over him at the end of the table. He slid the spit-slick glass rod along the line of his ass. "Spread those skinny legs. Don't think you can hide away from me." Noct bit his lip, unable to meet Iedolas' glossy stare, and slowly let his thighs fall apart. The glide of that glass phallus slipped down his perineum, dipping, playing at his hole as Noct bared himself further.

An unyielding pressure probed at his entrance, and suddenly it was _in him_.

It wasn't slick enough. Noct knew nothing about any of this, but he knew his sloppy fellating of the rod hadn't been enough. A lancing pain poured into his belly. He felt like the wind had all been knocked out of him. Had it really felt good enough to curl his toes just five minutes ago? Noct couldn't remember, couldn't think at all, and he made the mistake of holding his breath against the pain and let his head fall back just as the Emperor, with less than no concern for his shaking prize, withdrew the rod almost fully before thrusting it in. Deeper.

When Noct's vision cleared he was still seeing stars, he was still being sharply fucked by glass that caught against his flesh, and his vision was spinning from the lack of oxygen or the alcohol or both. He felt a cool liquid slide down the crevasse of his legs and looked up in a panic to find Iedolas slowly drizzling a decanter of olive oil from the discarded dishes over him: he could already feel it smoothing over the glass on every slide back into him, impossibly slippery on the largest kind-of dick he'd ever had. 

Something in his expression caught Iedolas' eye and he smirked in a way that had probably appeared roguish in his younger days. Now Noct shivered just in time for the damn phallus to accidentally - he was sure, it had to be - hit the good angle inside him. "So much for your very first _visitor_? There lay a distinct appeal in sheathing myself in you first, for the feel of your tight body around me. Thus far into our acquaintance, little prince, I shall admit...you look your most tempting as you suffer," Iedolas nearly purred, fucking Noct faster as the glide of the phallus smoothed out. Noct realized he wasn't really resisting the pressure anymore in light of the return of that delicious sizzle to his nerves: his cock was starting to regain interest, and he wanted to cover his face or do anything to hide. "Believe me," Iedolas continued, as cool and sedate as if he wasn't fucking Noct into an expensive cherry table, "when I say that the only thing that gives me pause from treating you as I please, and the _only_ factor between yourself and a lifetime with a colonoscopy bag..." he drew it out as Noct stared at him in horror, "...is the fact that I prefer a _smooth_ ride. And so, smooth you shall be. Indulge me for not tearing into you properly, a thought that I'm sure dear Regis is considering thoroughly as we speak."

He had a faraway look in his eyes that resembled a pleasant kind of daydream as his hand sped up as if on its own. Noct hissed, twisting on the table as he tried not to moan. It didn't help: Iedolas pursued him when he lifted his hips away. His free hand stroked Noct's belly and over the ridges of his hipbones, and when a deep grind sent him arching fully off the table, the man reached under him to palm his ass appraisingly. "Widen your legs and keep your hips raised," the Emperor said. Noct struggled to comply, muscles quivering against the touch that was starting to feel way too impossibly good.

For all that the robes Iedolas was wearing concealed most of his aged form, Noct could feel hardness against his inner thigh as the man leaned into him and spread him even farther apart. His free hand slid up through the oil and Noct's smooth skin to idle with his cock where it lay, full, flushed and humiliating on Noct's toned stomach. "Something about your manner tells me that the back alleys of Lucis lost a great favorite when you were born a prince. I wish I could put my finger on what..." He sighed casually as he played Noct's body like a violin. Noct gnawed at his lower lip and tried not to bite straight through it. "However, it would seem that in the end, you lack the guile even of the most common streetwalker." His grip on Noct shifted, fingertips pressed under his cock and Noct saw stars. He tossed his head back and _whimpered_ as Iedolas fucked him relentlessly through the incredible waves lighting up his body.

For that one moment, he forgot his own shame. Then Iedolas' words brought it crashing back on him tenfold, like a bucket of ice water despite the heat stoking within him. "Such a face...but perhaps it is a good thing to know that the future king of Lucis wears his pleasure so obviously, with so little provocation. When your father lies cold at long last and you are king, will you wear such a face for me, and any other distinguished head of state who might happen to be near? Will you whine like a bitch in heat and suck at your lip, errant slut that you are?" His leer was almost more cruel than the sharp, erratic thrusts of the wand as he rode Noct's prostate from both sides. "Does dear Regis know? Did he guess how easily you fall to bits with a little... _special_ attention? I have perhaps let him off easy, in that case. Was it even a sacrifice, trading one arrogant slut for the preservation of his beloved country? I wonder that he even thought to hesitate...”

With a final deep push that tore a cry from Noct’s throat, Iedolas broke off the rhythm and left the damn rod buried in Noct. “Keep it in or I shall be exceedingly _displeased_. For a hungry little arse like yours, that shouldn’t be too terribly difficult for you to accomplish.” The glass phallus was starting to slip out of him in the mess of oil that still slicked it: he reached behind himself quickly and shoved it back in, right into that good spot, and he shivered, eyes rolling with the effort it took to stay silent. 

Noct’s chest was still heaving as his body trembled, clenching around the rod in his gut. A cloth napkin landed on his thigh: he could barely feel his fingers as he released his death grip on the table and moved, confused, to take it. “What a filthy mess. Make yourself presentable…then attend me here, on your knees.”

His hands felt weak as he dabbed at himself. He could feel the tool inside him shift as he slowly sat up, sometimes uncomfortably, sometimes lighting up every one of his nerves, and shifting back and forth with every inch. Noct tried to ease himself up and off the edge, but most of the blood in his body was officially centered in his dick and his beet-red face, and his body wasn’t used to the new girth it accommodated. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, banging his elbow on the way down for good measure, landing hard on his knees. The wand, at least, stayed in, though it shifted sharply as his body twisted and rubbed him just right again. He sat gasping and shuddering on the plush carpet until the snap of sharp fingers drew his attention. 

Iedolas sat with his legs spread wide, not beckoning Noct in so many words, but his expression said it all. Shuddering, Noct slowly got his knees under himself and dragged himself forward the foot it took to kneel between the Emperor’s thighs. The man made no move toward Noct, or in any direction, actually. He surveyed the shaking, boneless, aching pile of misery Noct had dissolved into with the demeanor of a man safely in the penthouse of a tall building watching a deadly accident unfold on the street far below him. He toyed absently with the sash of his night robe. “You may make yourself useful and undress me, little whore.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry-not-sorry? *bats eyelashes*


End file.
